Variations Vignettes
by HDKingsbury
Summary: Light and fluffy "slices of life" with Erik and Christine duBois, first introduced in "Variations on a Theme of Leroux."
1. May We Sleep With You? Part 1

**Copyright © 2008  
H D Kingsbury**

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system -- available today or in the future -- without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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I have had these urges, now and then, to jot down little vignettes -- or slices of life -- about Erik and Christine duBois from my story, _Variations on a Theme of Leroux_. I started writing this one as a "get well" gift for my friend, Lizzy, and have decided to post it here.

The title of this little piece of fluff is "May We Sleep with You?" and introduces the newest member of the duBois household -- two-year-old Charles. There are no real plots to these vignettes, they are deliberately light and fluffy, and will make the most sense if you've read the previous two stories, _Variations on a Theme of Leroux_ and _The Gift: A Variations Sequel_.

So without further ado, here is part one of "May We Sleep with You?"

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May We Sleep with You?  
By HDKingsbury

Part One

**_October 1886_**

Erik laid in bed, listening to the sounds of the storm raging outside. Living so close to the ocean, storms such as this were not uncommon. Many of his neighbors, men who made their living by fishing, did not care for weather that churned up the waters and disrupted their livelihoods, but Erik enjoyed listening to the tempest. Closing his eyes, he imagined nature conducting a symphony as the drops of rain beat against the windows like little fists and gusts of wind rattled through the branches of the apple trees in front of the house.

He opened his eyes again and took in the soft golden glow in the room. Even though it was warm during the day, the fall nights were cool. With the rain falling, it was both chilly and damp, and so a small fire burned in the fireplace, one just big enough to remove the dampness and keep the occupants comfortable. He shifted his weight slightly, not wanting to disturb his wife who was sleeping peacefully at his side. He hesitated to wake her, remembering the long hours of work she had put in around the house that day, helping Mamma put up apples so they would have pies, spiced apples, applesauce and apple jelly, even in the winter.

Warmth of a different kind filled him as he looked at Christine and felt the delightful pressure of her back pressed against his chest. The loose curls of her honey-gold hair were alluring, and he couldn't resist the urge to inhale their fragrance. Even now, the faint perfume of apples and spices clung to her. Knowing how exhausted she had been at the end of the day, he laid still and, gently putting an arm around her waist, closed his eyes as he let his mind wander. Pleasant memories flooded his mind, but one in particular stood out. It was the day he came home and found Christine looking at The Book.

It had been shortly after their marriage, and Christine had recently learned that she was carrying their first child. Erik had been out that morning, paying a visit to their good friend and doctor, Visant Bret. When he'd returned, he had found his wife sitting on the floor of was to be his workroom, surrounded by piles of books.

Although he had enough money set aside from his years as "ghost in residence" at the opera house to keep them living in the lap of luxury, if that had been Christine's wish, Erik had determined to put aside all vestiges of his former life. With many wealthy Parisians now coming to Perros for their summer holidays, there was a growing demand for new houses, and Erik turned his talents back to one of his earliest loves -- architecture. He talked to Christine about opening his own business, and she in turn had been helping him get his office set up. While he was out, she had started going through the crates of books that had arrived from Paris earlier that week, books that had once filled the shelves of his house by the lake. Looking at her sitting on the floor, a loose tendril of hair hanging down in her face, her skirt tucked neatly beneath her, and her nose in one of his books, he thought her the most beautiful woman in the world.

She hadn't heard him enter the room, for she never looked up, but continued gazing intently at the book in her lap. He wondered what could be holding her interest, and then he saw the cover. It was a rare volume he had picked up during a brief sojourn into India while in the employ of the Shah, a book that explored physical love -- in very great detail.

He'd gulped in a breath, waiting for Christine to note his presence and literally throw the book at him, to revile him for possessing such a pornographic thing. Instead, when she raised her head, she was smiling -- mischievously. She invited him to sit next to her and asked for a hands-on demonstration of some of the book's contents. Their kisses had grown deeper, and their touching, more intense, when Mamma Valérius's voice rang through the house, calling them to dinner.

From that time on, they had kept The Book, as they called it, in the drawer of the nightstand in their room. "For late night reading and inspiration," Christine had explained. But it hadn't been long until The Book found its way out of the bedroom. It still made Erik laugh when he remembered the day he came home from visiting with a client and finding Christine and Mamma huddled together at the kitchen table, their heads bowed together as they looked at something, pointing and giggling like a couple of school girls.

"She looks bored," Christine said, almost snorting with laughter.

"He doesn't look all that excited himself," Mamma commented.

More giggles followed.

"I think she's trying to decide what color to paint the room," Christine suggested.

Erik had stood quietly in the doorway for a few minutes, and then cleared his throat, announcing his presence. "And what are the two of you looking at, that you find it so interesting?" he asked innocently, by then knowing full well what was going on.

Mamma's head jerked up, her face a deep shade of scarlet. Christine quickly slammed the book shut and slipped it under the table and onto her lap, all the while grinning like a cat who'd found the cream.

"Oh...nothing," Mamma said, trying to regain her composure.

"Just...a book," Christine said, fighting to keep from laughing again.

"I think I need to pick some vegetables from the garden...for tonight's supper," Mamma said, and bolted out the back door.

"I think I hear Etienne. The nurse is getting him ready for his feeding," Christine said, and dashed up the stairs to the nursery.

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	2. May We Sleep With You? Part 2

Here's the second part of Lizzy's "get well" present. Apparently, she found this vignette quite inspiring, as she sent me a few ideas of her own about how things should go between these two. I liked a couple of them so well, I "borrowed" them and included them in the vignette. Minor caution -- while I would not consider this to be "M" rated, it is a little sensuous.

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May We Sleep With You?  
Part Two

The same storm that woke Erik had wakened Christine, too, but she didn't move, didn't want to move. Warmth surrounded her as she lay in bed, finding the sound of the rain beating against the windowpanes calming. She luxuriated in the warmth of the room, of the down pillows and comforter, and of her husband's body next to hers.

She'd gone to bed exhausted, muscles aching, not having realized just how tiring it would be to peel, slice and cook a bushel basket full of apples when she'd told Mamma she would help. Lying next to her husband, she found that the gentle rise and fall of Erik's chest against her back was as soothing as the massage he'd given her before they went to bed. The corners of her lips curled up in a gentle smile as she remembered the silly wives' tales she used to hear, the ones about how once the children arrived, husbands found their wives less desirable. Obviously, these women didn't know Erik!

True, when they first met, Erik had portrayed himself as a proper gentleman, formal and circumspect. During their early months together, when he had been her teacher, he had been reserved, even shy. In time, she came to learn that his reticence was due to his fear of showing her his true feelings, his fear that she would reject him as so many others had in the past. For that reason, he had erected a wall around his heart to protect himself from a cruel world that had often judged him by his face. Once she found a crack in his wall, however, she'd gone out of her way to play the temptress, breaking down the façade he'd hid behind. And every night she thanked God for giving her the wisdom to look past that superficial ugliness and truly see the man behind the mask, a man filled with love and passion.

It was fun to remember those early days of their marriage and of the births of their two sons – four-year-old Etienne, who mimicked his father's serious demeanor with such accuracy, and two-year-old Charles, who was already exhibiting a love of music. With such pleasant memories filling her mind, she was starting to drift back to sleep when the gentle touch of Erik's arm around her waist brought her back. Reaching up, she took hold of his hand and asked, "Are you awake?"

"I didn't mean to bother you," he apologized.

She let out a little laugh and turned to face him. "Oh, you didn't wake me. The storm did that all on its own." She saw the quizzical look on his face. "What are you staring at, Husband?"

She watched contentedly as her husband gazed at her face as though entranced by it, seeming to be trying to memorize every line, every detail, no matter how minute. He reached over and lightly placed his hand against her cheek, then combed his fingers through her hair. "It's…it's like spun gold," he said, as if noticing her hair for the first time. "I've never seen anything so beautiful." He pressed a handful of her hair to his face and inhaled deeply of the intoxicating fragrance. "It smells of apples…and cinnamon."

"Go on," she urged. "Tell me more."

"And your eyes, they're the color of the ocean on a calm day – deep, peaceful…irresistible."

"Don't stop now."

He took her chin in his hands and tilted her head back slightly so that her face turned up to meet his. His mouth found her lips, and his tongue fully explored her as their hands joined in. She felt his body tremble slightly as she ran her fingers through his hair, and she gasped with pleasure as his hands explored her neck, her shoulders, and her breasts. He rolled over, pinning her underneath his side. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

"I need to move…just a little….there," she said as she adjusted her body slightly. "That's better."

He chuckled. "It certainly is," he said as he pushed against her, and she noted with delight that his eagerness matched her own. He continued his ministration, filling her with passion as he trailed kisses down her neck and shoulder. His hands slipped under the gauzy fabric of her nightgown, and she shuddered as he found her breasts and stroked them gently, her pebbled nipples beckoning to his lips to taste them. She sighed as his fingers skimmed across her body and his reached lower until it rested on her hip. She lifted herself up to him eagerly and pulled away at his nightclothes. The storm outside became the perfect counterpoint to their lovemaking overtures. Then Christine stopped and sat up.

"What's wrong?"

"Did you hear something?" Christine asked.

"No," Erik said, kissing her neck and breasts. "Must have been the thunder." He returned to the task at hand, but Christine pushed him gently aside.

"There it is again! Like a tapping sound."

"It's probably one of the shutters," Erik said, only slightly annoyed. "Now get back over here, Wife, and let me ravish you."

"But…you haven't put up the storm shutters yet," she said.

The knocking was louder this time, and even Erik heard it. They were both sitting up in bed now.

"Mama? Papa? Are you asleep?" The door opened. It was Etienne, holding his little brother Charles by the hand. "The funder woke Charles."

Christine glanced over at Erik. "You didn't lock the door?" she asked under her breath.

"I thought you did," he answered, equally under breath.

The toddler nodded his head and held his brother's hand tightly. Charles looked at the window and saw another flash of lighting. "Boom! Boom!" he said, pointing outside. "Bad." Another crash of thunder sent both boys scampering closer to the bed.

"May we sleep with you?" Etienne asked, trying very hard to be proper and formal. "Charles is scared," he explained, putting on a brave front.

"Sweep wiff Mamma and Papa," Charles repeated, fighting back a sniffle.

Christine looked at Erik. Erik looked at Christine. They struggled to keep from laughing. "Good thing they didn't wait a few more minutes," Erik said softly, not wanting the boys to hear what he was saying.

Christine smirked as she adjusted her nightgown and nodded in agreement, afraid that if she opened her mouth to say something, she would start giggling.

Another crash of thunder ripped through the night, and the boys jumped up on the bed. Etienne dove into his father's waiting arms, while Charles buried himself against his mother's breast.

Erik looked tenderly at their younger child. "A few minutes ago, that was me," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

Christine kissed the top of Charles's head and pulled back to covers so he could cuddle next to her. Then she looked fondly at her husband. "Aren't you sorry now that you gave up the opera house to become a married man with children?" she asked playfully.

"Why would you be sorry, Papa?" Etienne asked, his voice already thick with sleep now that he was safe in his father's arms.

"It's…it's a joke," Erik sputtered, trying to figure out what to say.

"Doesn't sound funny," Etienne mumbled groggily, resting his head against his father's broad chest.

"When you grow up, you'll understand," Erik chuckled. "And no, not for a single moment am I sorry I married your mother," he added, giving his son a hug.

And as the storm raged on, the family duBois slept peacefully, feeling safe and snug in each other's arms.


	3. May We Sleep With You? Part 3

_Note: Lizzy evidentially found the previous scenes of this vignette inspiring, because she sent me some scribblings of her own. And guess what? Much of them ended up in this last section. So don't be surprised, Lizzy, when you read part three and recognize your own words._

**May We Sleep With You?  
Part Three**

Erik woke up to the sound of the mantle clock chiming four. He glanced out the window and noted that the storm had blown itself out, and from behind fragments of clouds, he could see the moon trying to peek out. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Is the storm over?" Christine whispered, not wanting to wake the boys.

"It looks to be," he answered, also keeping his voice low. He looked at their two children, sleeping peacefully between them. "They look like little angels, don't they?"

She reached over and brushed the hair from Charles's face. "Just like their father. Do you suppose they'll be all right in their own room now?"

Erik agreed. "If you take Charles, I'll bring Etienne." Tenderly, he picked the boy up, not wanting to wake him if possible. Etienne moaned softly. "Come on, son," Erik whispered. "Time to take you back to your room."

"Funder gone?" Etienne mumbled, never opening his eyes.

"That's right," his father said, reassuring the boy. "Funder gone."

Christine, with Charles in her arms, followed Erik to the nursery next to their room. They tucked the boys back into bed, giving each a kiss before returning to their own. Back inside, Erik paused as he closed the door. "This time, we lock it," he said.

They got back into bed, lying next to each other like two spoons. Erik draped his arm across Christine's waist. A few moments later, his hand wandered and he grazed her stomach with his thumb. She wiggled against him, pressing her body against his.

"Mmmm," she whispered, pleased with the reaction she got. "I like that."

"So do I," he responded sleepily, nuzzling her hair.

"You were sweet earlier, with the boys. You could have simply sung them a lullaby, and sent them back to their own beds."

"No, I couldn't have done that." A fleeting moment of sadness came over him. "I remember only too well how I felt when I was their age, how much it would have meant to me if my father had taken me in his arms and banished the storms for me." And then the sadness was gone and his mood immediately lightened. "Besides," he said, trying to stifle yawn, "boom-boom bad. Required immediate remedy."

She giggled softly. "Boom boom. I think I recall reading about that in your book."

"You mean, The Book?" He was fully awake now. "I haven't seen that thing in ages. You and Mamma have no doubt absconded with it, and I am sure the two of you are plotting wicked things – boom boom things – against the men who are at your mercy."

"You won't think they're such wicked things when I show you the ones I've picked out," she said, tempting him.

He swallowed. "Hmm…there are a few I've been thinking about, too." He pulled her hair back, exposing her neck, and gently kissed the spot that she liked best.

She shivered with delight. Outside, she heard the low rumble of distant thunder. "Is that another storm coming in? Or the old one going out?"

"Sounds like it's off to the west; probably the remnant of the one we had earlier," Erik said. "I suppose I should put up the storm shutters tomorrow," he said pensively, his eyebrows knit.

"Battening down the hatches? It was only a thunderstorm," she said, snuggling close.

"You know how unpredictable the weather is around here, how it can change at a moment's notice, especially during this time of the year. Besides, those lightning rods need to be checked."

"Lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Isn't that right?"

She turned on her side, facing him, and traced an outline across his forehead with her free hand, her fingers gently caressing his scarred face.

He smiled at Christine, throwing off whatever darkness thoughts had momentarily clouded his mind. "I don't know about that," he said, waggling an eyebrow at her.

"A franc for your thoughts," he said. When she didn't say anything, he asked, "Is something wrong?" He was concerned by the sudden change in her normally playful demeanor. Reaching over to her, he took his hand and smoothed the hair from her eyes, and kissed her softly.

She didn't want to tell him that she had been thinking back to the time when he had been nearly struck by lightning, the night he had been forced to defend all them from that horrible man, Fournier. "I'm just thinking how we are so lucky to have you," she finally said. "You're always thinking of ways to make us happy."

"Yes. I am sure the boys will appreciate having those storm shutters the next time it funders," he said dismissively.

"You know what I mean." She rubbed her hand across his chest. There it was – his heartbeat, a lifeline to her.

"Christine? Are you sure there isn't something troubling you?"

She shook her head. "It's only the storm. It must be pent up, nervous energy."

He grinned. "I know what will take care of that," he said, and tugged at her nightgown, exposing a shoulder. He moved closer and nibbled it playfully.

"See what I mean?" she said with a sigh. "You're always thinking of ways to make me happy."

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**Author's Note:** This is the last vignette for the time being. I have an idea for a follow-up to this one, but haven't had the time to work on it. Maybe someday, when I'm retired? Hey, wait! I already am retired! ;-)

As always, thank you, everyone, who has stopped by to read these pieces of fluff. If you like what you've read, won't you take a moment and leave a word or two? Your reviews and comments are always a delight to read. Thank you. --HDKingsbury


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